


Walkin in a Winter Wonderland

by haku23



Category: Stormwatch (Comics), The Authority
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haku23/pseuds/haku23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midnighter and Apollo take down a human smuggling ring. Also they have a short lived snowball fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walkin in a Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> More fic of them because why not (´･_･`)
> 
> x-posted from Tumblr as usual.

He knows better than to complain by now-it hasn’t ever gotten him anywhere he wants to be and so he hunkers further down into his coat. Leather. Not very conducive to nights spent tramping around in the snow but then they might have been somewhere warmer if one of their pet projects led somewhere nicer than a kid trafficking ring. So they find niceish buildings to spend their nights and days in. Ones without any huge spots that let cold and snow in anyway, they don’t exactly have access to a Hilton.

  
Apollo doesn’t complain either for all that he has to chase the sun a little further if they want to spend the entire night on patrol and so they have an understanding for the most part not to talk about the weather.  
  
"Snow looks nice when it’s like this," Apollo says, breaking their treaty into tiny snowflake shaped pieces.  
  
"I guess."  
  
"Come on, it’s like a Christmas card out here."  
  
"Do you even know what a Christmas card looks like?"  
  
"Sure. This," he sweeps his arm out with a grin that infuriates and endears at the same time.  
  
Midnighter doesn’t remember much in the way of Christmas cards or time spent with family during the holidays. Maybe before Bendix he was Jewish. Either way they don’t appear on anyone’s Christmas list-at this point he doesn’t know if they would be considered naughty or nice. Santa doesn’t seem like the type to see death his way for all that he and Apollo are doing good. But then Santa also doesn’t exist.  
  
"You think too much."  
  
"You don’t think enough."  
  
"You’re calling me stupid?" He grins another of his stupid grins. Midnighter shoves his hands into his pockets.  
  
"Picked that up, huh?"  
  
He knows exactly what he’s going to do as soon as he bends over and the snowball misses him by a mile.  
  
"That’s cheating, using the computer," Apollo grabs another but doesn’t lob it right away. It misses too and Midnighter throws one back of his own. Apollo melts it before it hits him and only a few drops of water make it to the intended target between his eyes.  
  
"That’s definitely cheating."  
  
"Says the cheater."  
  
"Can’t help it. You calculated," he shrugs and Apollo laughs, the sound echoing in the cold street like a song.  
  
"Maybe I can’t help it either."  
  
He can. Midnighter chucks another snowball at him and he smacks it away this time, probably conserving energy for burning up goons later.  
  
Their fights, spars more like, end with them both breathing heavy and now doesn’t deviate from the precedent. Only the sounds of them shoving one another like over-eager dogs-or maybe lion in Apollo’s case-sounds in the night and he lets himself be shoved against a wall. The snow down his front, while not necessarily unwelcome now that they’ve worked up a sweat, makes him retaliate in kind though finding an opening in Apollo’s costume takes more time than he would have liked. He doesn’t seem to mind much but then the snow melts off of him almost instantly from the low grade-by Apollo standards-hum of heat constantly wrapping his body.  
  
He shivers, unconscious and necessary because as the computer informs him his temperature has dropped and lowers his effectiveness by a whole two percent. The computer doesn’t concern itself with how much; any kind of loss is worth note and he shoves it aside. He’ll deal with it when his fingers start cramping and considering this part of the hemisphere’s median temperature he doesn’t foresee that happening any time soon.  
  
"Are you cold?" Apollo steps closer, unselfconscious as always in his attempts at touch. Before this, before Bendix’s fuck up of a first mission he might have twisted away, predicting attacks but he steps into Apollo’s outstretched arms instead. He’s warm, a pleasant counterpoint to Midnighter’s cool skin and cold leather.  
  
"You  _are_  cold.”  
  
He grunts, not interested in starting a conversation about how fragile his human body is compared to that of the Sun God’s but Apollo turns it around on him. He should be used to it by now.  
  
"I don’t know how you can handle it," he shivers, a poor imitation of Midnighter’s but then it’s probably been years since he’s had to really shiver.  
  
"Helps to have a space heater."  
  
"Do you think that they’ll be out tonight? The smugglers?" He pulls Midnighter tighter against him, "it is pretty cold."  
  
"Getting soft on me?"  
  
Apollo’s halo brightens, lighting their spot and melting the snow falling before it dusts their shoulders, “opposite problem. We should wait somewhere warmer.”  
  
Midnighter doesn’t think that there’s anywhere warmer that isn’t someone’s house than against Apollo’s chest but doesn’t say so. He doesn’t have to; his lack of movement says it plainly enough.  
  
"Somewhere where we can get a better vantage point then."  
  
They climb, or rather Midnighter climbs, up the side of a building and onto the roof where the wind feels harsher and the computer tells him exactly how much colder it is. It hates Apollo and his arms that can pull up trees, his stupid halo that signifies how much sun he got(enough to burn him to a crisp in a second if he landed a hit) but even it has to shut up when Apollo presses close again. Begrudgingly it admits that his touch probably isn’t one seeking to harm him…but it totally could if he wanted to. He shuts it up and watches the houses below for movement.  
  
They’ve traced the ring to this particular part of town-surprisingly not adhering to the stereotype of the shadiest parts of industrial district being dens of sin but it makes his blood boil more that there are people around, people who probably know what’s going on and don’t stop it. The gang doesn’t do much importing-a lot of the kids they find are from America or the furthest Mexico, kids off the street or from families disgusting enough to sell their own child and so their patrols of the shipyard had turned up a lot of drugs but not much leads.  
  
Voices below snap them to attention and he recognizes one as the right hand man to the boss. His fingers itch in his gloves to kill him in the most fitting way possible but they need the bastard alive to lead them back to the boss-cutting off heads only does so much good, they need to take down the whole god damn hydra.  
  
Apollo’s heart rate picks up, an echo of his own double heartbeat in his chest and they start moving in. It’s been weeks since the under boss has made an appearance and it will be weeks before he does so again; they have to be careful to herd him in the right direction. But they’ve practised this-not much else to do during the day-and Midnighter can see all the possible outcomes of their proposed plans. This one has the highest success rate and can reasonably end with Midnighter ripping the guy’s dick off so they chose this as their plan A.  
  
It goes as he anticipates with them approaching, murdering everyone in the vicinity of the under boss and Midnighter grabbing him so that they can drag him to the secure location they’ve set up. There’s a chance that he could warn his boss but Apollo melts his phone before he gets an opportunity.  
  
"We can do this one of two ways," he says, the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of his nightstick against his gloves a constant warning of further violence to come, "you can either tell me where your boss is or you can try to give me bullshit. I wouldn’t try number two."  
  
"You’ll have to kill me."  
  
"God I want to but unlike some people," he glances at Apollo radiant with stored energy just waiting to be released again, "I’m patient. What do think will happen first? That boss you’re shitting your pants over protecting replacing you or me deciding to let a scumbag like you walk the streets again?"  
  
The man shakes but not much. Probably more from the pain of having his cellphone permanently affixed to his left hand than fear. Luckily Midnighter knows all about fear. Or at least, he knows how to play into it.  
  
~**~  
  
He never gets over how easily human bone creak and crack. One, two, three, pause, and four.  
  
"I can break more. Or you can give me the address."  
  
Fear sweat smells different. It smells like victory and a fucked up sense of pride because sure Apollo can fry a person in under a minute but he lacks the drive for this-making people suffer is an art which Midnighter was made for. It’s why they make such a good team, he thinks, they level one another out, bring out parts in each other that outsiders can’t even hope to.  
  
"He’s going to go into shock if you’re not careful," Apollo, the good cop, says like he cares what happens to this child abusing asshole. He should audition for a play somewhere because he’s convincing enough that the under boss visibly sways towards him.  
  
Fear makes everything simpler. The guy breaking your fingers is the bad guy, the one putting up a token protest could be salvation except that he isn’t. Apollo licks his lips-he doesn’t have a taste for torture but Midnighter torturing people has proven to be another thing entirely.  
  
"Please, I can’t tell you, he’ll kill me."  
  
"Either way you’re not getting out of here alive. Die with some dignity.”

He knows the second he’ll break and if they’d been able to do this the easy way they would have but the computer, and he, revel in this; the breath of defeat, the outflow of information, the final crack of bones as he crushes the man’s windpipe and spine.

“Got all that?” Apollo asks. His heartbeat is a steady thump in counterpoint to the man in the chair’s lack of one.

He taps his head and they sweep the house for anyone else but find no one-he expects that, though, and so he doesn’t doubt what he sees. He gives the signal and Apollo sets the house on fire with one look. The surrounding houses are home to singles or childless partners; he doesn’t hesitate in letting them burn but they need to keep going, strike quickly.

They don’t speak before separating-Apollo towards the second storehouse of people and weapons and Midnighter towards the boss-they know the plan and the Plan B, C, and D it won’t take long to execute any of them with how they are, with what they can do as easily as regular men breathe.

~~**~~

The man who runs the ring sleeps peacefully in bed with people who can’t be there out of choice and he must feel secure with his men-dead men-guarding him because he doesn’t stir when Midnighter opens the window. One of the women stares at him, a pair of eyes reflecting light in the dark, but doesn’t scream. He crosses the room and puts his finger to his lips, points to the door. She doesn’t hesitate in running and he pulls the man out of bed and throws him to the ground. That wakes him and the entire room with a shout and a thump.

“You’re a hard man to find.”

“What the fuck!?” he wheezes when Midnighter stomps on his chest and tries to scramble to his feet. His bed mates follow the first, running in terror out the door, “who the fuck are you?”

“The man who’s going to kill you.”

Killing him quick would be too easy and more than he deserves but they can’t be here much longer-showing up on TV would lead Bendix right to them and he owes it to Apollo and himself to not let them get dragged back into the fold. He indulges himself, though, and does cut his dick off before crushing his head under his heel.

A quick jaunt to the other side of town has him meeting up with Apollo, his task complete, and they take off into the clouds for warmer pastures.

“Still cold?”

“Opposite problem.”

He laughs and holds Midnighter tighter, “well I guess we’ll have to do something about that when we land.”

~~**~~

It almost feels like home now when they’re holed up in an abandoned building as close to exhausted as they get these days. Hand to mouth, Apollo calls it, that’s how they live and one day it will stop-with them dead and bloodless no doubt- but not this one.

Apollo pushes the coat off of Midnighter’s shoulders, the leather far too warm in the current climate and presses their lips together. He’s warm too but not unbearably so, his halo dimmed a little even in the dark from lack of sunlight.

“We might have to do something about this.”

“And walk around looking like normal people?”

“Why not? Get a house with a picket fence, that’s what people want, right?”

He laughs and Apollo does too, “forgot the 2.5 kids.”

“How can you have half a kid?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Midnighter shucks off his shirt too, the computer reminding him that it doesn’t  _like_  this being vulnerable in front of someone. He ignores it because Apollo’s hands skate over his chest and the interconnecting scars then down to his belt.

“Have you ever thought about it? Having kids?”

“Hate to break it to you but neither of us have the equipment for that.”

He rolls his eyes, “shut up.”

“No. Haven’t thought of it.”

Things like children, settling down feels so far removed from their life that he can’t imagine it as something they will do either now or in the future. But then not being considered alive in the eyes of the government kind of puts a stopper in a lot of that-paper work can be bought though, and if Apollo really wants it he can make it happen.

Apollo kisses him again like he knows what he’s thinking and they don’t talk about it again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
